Do You Have Any Idea?
by Sparky-chan328
Summary: John and Sherlock's conversation immediately after Sherlock's return from the "dead." Johnlock (slash)


"Where were you, Sherlock?" I asked, my voice breaking just a little. I cleared my throat to cover it up, watching his reflection in the window but pretending not to. I squared my shoulders and pretended to look down at B street, but really my gaze was locked on his beautiful face.

The genius glared at my back in frustration. He replied, "Does it matter? I'm—"

"Of _course_, it matters!" I snapped, spinning around to face him. "Do you have any idea—? Damn it, Sherlock!" I started pacing, one hand buried in my hair and the other on my hip.

Sherlock was quiet. "Do I have any idea of what, John?" he asked softly.

I stopped, but didn't look at him. Instead, I stared through my unshed tears up at the yellow spray paint smiley face on the wall, the bullet holes in the eyes constant reminders of him during his year-long absence. I couldn't bear to fix the holes or to cover the smiley. Every time I'd started, I'd been forced to stop by the ache in my heart. I'd been unable to shake the feeling that, as long as it felt like Sherlock could come home any minute, some day he would. And he had. The smiley face swam before my eyes, blurring against the black wall. I looked away.

"Do you have any idea of how much I missed you?" I said again, so quiet that I wondered if he even heard it. I didn't bother trying to disguise how my voice cracked and broke with tears this time. Let him know how much he hurt me. He deserved it.

A pair of warm, familiar hands rested on my shoulders and gently turned me. I kept my eyes closed and my head down, not wanting to see his beautiful face just yet. A finger lifted my chin, and I reluctantly opened my eyes.

Sherlock was a breathtaking as ever. His dark brown curls were longer than I'd ever seen them, but his gray/green/blue eyes peered at me over the same sharp cheekbones, the same affectionate and amused gleam in them. His familiar pink lips pulled up at one corner in his trademark smirk, and I got the feeling he would have laughed if I hadn't clearly been so wounded. He wore a scarf, but it wasn't his usual blue one. No, the blue one was still under my pillow though the smell of him barely clung to it anymore. He had on a different trench coat, as well, but I didn't really care what he wore. My gaze searched his, looking for an answer, any answer.

His smirk faded into the serious expression I'd studied so many times. "John," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

And then his lips were on mine, silencing any response I'd started to form. I was stunned, and he pulled back after a moment, a pink flush to his cheeks. He didn't say anything, just looked at me. My face burned, and I was speechless. That cocky smirk returned, and Sherlock's head swooped down again. I kissed him back this time, and he pushed me against the wall, deepening the already knee-weakening kiss.

Even with my various ex-girlfriends, I'd never experienced such passion in a single kiss as I did in this. I'd never had my knees turn to jelly and my body become putty the hands of someone else. I'd never been pushed against a wall, pinned there, and then driven mad by the mouth and hands of my partner.

I'd never loved anyone like I loved Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock broke off the kiss, and we remained pressed together, breathing hard and staring intensely into each other's eyes just like we used to. His hands rested on my waist for a moment, then wrapped around it. His fingers dug into my back as he pulled me into him, and I clutched the back of his jacket so hard it hurt. Our arms were around each other, my face in his neck, his in my hair, just breathing in the scent of each other. Oh, how did I ever think that that stupid scarf compared to the real deal?

"I'm home, John," Sherlock whispered in my ear. "And I'm not leaving any time soon."

The tears spilled out and I clung tighter to him, whispering his name over and over again, as if just saying it was enough to hold him to his promise forever.


End file.
